Sherlock's Assistant
by SherlockWasHere
Summary: When John invites a fan to stay at Baker street, Sherlock is less than pleased. The young girl, Bowie, is an orphan, and one of John's regular patients. After knowing her for just one night however, Sherlock knows a great mind is trapped inside the prison that is society. So begins her training. This will most likely have a sequel. First fanfic ever, so wish me luck!
1. Chapter 1

**CH. 1**

John Watson strode down the hall, lab coat on, clipboard in hand. He scanned through his list, excited to find his next patient was a regular, and she was one of his favourites.

"Hello Bowie!" he said in a sing-songy voice as he stepped in to the room. He looked at her, his cheer slinking away. She was much skinnier, and her once tight jeans were growing baggier. Her face was paler, and the dark circles under her eyes were increasing. She was doing exactly what he didn't want her to do. She was dying.

"Hello Dr. Watson!" the teen replied, still as chipper as the day she had first come in. They had been on a first name basis for quite some time, but she felt it rude to call him John. He was her elder after all.

"How have you been feeling lately?" He didn't want her to answer that. He was too fond of her.

"Well, I've been _feeling_ fine, but I know I'm not. I'm not _doing_ well." She managed, her mouth still split into a grin.

"_Dear god. She is so tough. She's dying, and she's still being a wise ass" _John thought. He only smiled.

Bowie continued. "You know what a fan I am of you and Mr. Holmes' work. I was wondering if I could meet him. It would mean the world to me"

"Of course. He needs to get out of the house. How about Friday night at 6?"

"Thank you so much! My dream has come true!"

John had known Bowie since she came into his office 2 years ago. At the time, she was a 13 year old with an attitude who was not afraid to speak her mind. The only thing that changed was her age. The reason they had become such close friends was the blog. She had recognized him from the photo under the "About me" portion. She claimed she was clever, and then proceeded to analyze a nurse. She _was_ clever. And she was tough. Both of her parents were dead, she lived in a children's home, and she had leukemia, but she was still happy as ever. Bowie was Sherlock, just in a young girl form.

**CH. 2**

Friday night a quarter to 6, Sherlock was dragged against his will out of 221b and into a cab.

"Must I go? I was incredibly close to solving that murder John!" he complained, snarl on his face.

"Yes Sherlock. I think you'll enjoy meeting this girl. She's very clever. "

"Clever! But she's a child! I hate children."

"She's 15! Nearly an adult." John said defensively. "Besides, she's a big fan of your work."

"Fine." Sherlock said, turning to stare out the window.

"You are required to talk to her Sherlock. At least 100 words, do you understand? Ah, here we are. Wait here, and try not to be to intimidating. Please?"

"Hmph!" Sherlock sniffed, turning his coat collar up.

John returned several minutes later with pen on his hand and the girl in tow. Sherlock analyzed her. "Little food, poor sleep, stressful life. She has very few outfits. Just that and another one, and this one is the better of the two. She has a scar on her cheek, most likely because her parents were abusive. It looks almost like a knife wound. Probably why she lives here."

The door opened and the overhead light came on. The young girl stepped in, and John took the passenger seat.

"Hello Mr. Holmes! I'm Bowie! I'm an enormous fan of you and Dr. Watson."

"Charmed." He replied, giving her a dangerously cold stare. She


	2. Chapter 2

**I realized that part of chapter two was at the end of chapter two. Whoops! Sorry about that! The chapters will be fairly short, but they'll be uploaded every few days. **

**CH. 2**

Friday night a quarter to 6, Sherlock was dragged against his will out of 221b and into a cab.

"Must I go? I was incredibly close to solving that murder John!" he complained, snarl on his face.

"Yes Sherlock. I think you'll enjoy meeting this girl. She's very clever. "

"Clever! But she's a child! I hate children."

"She's 15! Nearly an adult." John said defensively. "Besides, she's a big fan of your work."

"Fine." Sherlock said, turning to stare out the window.

"You are required to talk to her Sherlock. At least 100 words, do you understand? Ah, here we are. Wait here, and try not to be to intimidating. Please?"

"Hmph!" Sherlock sniffed, turning his coat collar up.

John returned several minutes later with pen on his hand and the girl in tow. Sherlock analyzed her. "Little food, poor sleep, stressful life. She has very few outfits. Just that and another one, and this one is the better of the two. She has a scar on her cheek, most likely because her parents were abusive. It looks almost like a knife wound. Probably why she lives here."

The door opened and the overhead light came on. The young girl stepped in, and John took the passenger seat.

"Hello Mr. Holmes! I'm Bowie! I'm an enormous fan of you and Dr. Watson."

"Charmed." He replied, giving her a dangerously cold stare. She leaned back in her seat, and began conversing with John, who had turned around to watch their exchange. _ Clever enough to know when to shut up _Sherlock thought bitterly.

Sherlock was sure this girl was smart. He knew from the moment she read the cab driver.

"Two sons, one considerably older than the other. The second one is favored, as most younger siblings are." The cabby turned red during the silence.

"And, oh! You're cheating on your wife with the owner of this cab company! God! What a man!"

"Get out ya little bitch!" he yelled, pulling over and turning to face John.

"Keep your daughter in check! Never met someone so rude in my life! Get out!" By this point his face was a cauldron, turning every shade of red and bubbling.

"GET OUT!" he screeched again, getting out and opening the back door. Sherlock and Bowie clambered out, while John got out in the front. They stood on the sidewalk, Bowie in the middle, not daring to look to either side of her. Her face was contorted with silent laughter, but she tried hard not to show it. When she saw Sherlock's head turn out of the corner of her eye, she turned to face him. She steeled her face, only to see Sherlock grin and begin laughing hysterically. Bowie lost her cool and joined in. Even John, who was trying desperately to be the adult in the situation, began laughing.

"Well done Bowie. You've done it again." He snickered, biting his lip.

"Oh, well, he wouldn't have been offended if it wasn't true." She replied, her eyes twinkling with glee.

"I have to admit Miss, that was one of the most amusing things I have ever seen." Sherlock laughed.

"Thanks! It means a lot coming from you Mr. Holmes." The girl beamed "And I'm not easily shaken."

The trio walked the streets of London for several hours, stopping to get sandwiches at Speedy's. John would have liked to introduce Bowie to Mrs. Hudson, but she wasn't in, so they took their sandwiches to go. Sherlock passed 100 words within 5 minutes of leaving the cab, and it appeared he had no intention of stopping anytime soon. Bowie soaked it all in, her blue eyes wide with wonder. She had a habit of twirling her hair, but even that was abandoned, and her red curls spent the night undisturbed. At 8:30, John insisted that they bring Bowie back home.

"Please just another hour? Ms. Monroe wont be mad if I'm in before 10"

"I'm sorry Bowie, but I'd rather you be early than on time. And who is-"

"The headmistress" Sherlock and Bowie replied simultaneously.

"Oh alright. Very well then."

"As much as I hate to let you go back to the shit-hole orphanage you've described to us tonight, I agree with John." Sherlock added.

"OK. I guess we should head back then." Bowie said, not ready to disagree with her idol.

They reached Oxford St around 8:45, and they slowed their pace, delaying the inevitable. Once they reached the home, Bowie pulled out a key from her pocket and unlocked the huge wrought iron gate that stood in front. She bid goodbye to Sherlock and John on the walk, and ran up the marble stairs two at a time. She stopped again at the front door.

"Thank you again! This was amazing!" Putting a hand up in the air as a goodbye, she disappeared into the ominous entrance way. She stepped into the lobby, signed herself in, and went up to the girl's dormitory.

_That was the best day of my life_ she thought as she drifted of to sleep. She had no idea tomorrow could top it.


	3. Chapter 3

**Ch. 3**

"Oi! You! Get your ass out of bed!" Ms. Monroe yelled in Bowie's ear.

"Bloody hell! What do you want?" Bowie said sitting up and rubbing her eyes.

"You have a foster request." The birdlike old woman replied snottily. "Good riddance!"

"I don't want to go! I hate being fostered!" Bowie exclaimed, stubbornness multiplying inside her.

"You'll go, and there wont be another word about it, do you understand?"

"Fine. I hate it here too. Might as well get a change of scenery." Bowie got up slowly and went to the foot of her bed. There was a polka dotted duffle bag, with "Bowie" embroidered onto it in pink. She had gotten it for Christmas when she was 4. The pink was fading, and the stitching was rapidly falling out, but it was all she had. All her clothes were already in there. She took out her pair of shorts and t-shirt and went to get changed. After putting her pajamas away, she went to her bedside table. Her only family picture was staring back at her from its plain black frame. She put that away too, and shouldered the duffle. In reality, she was petrified just thinking of all the people that could be downstairs. Her free hand flew to her cheek, unconsciously touching her scar. It brought back memories of that night. The night. The night her life changed.

Her mother was tucking Bowie into bed after a story. Suddenly the doorbell began buzzing urgently. Her father answered, still dressed in policeman's uniform.

"Hell-" _**BANG! **_Bowie looked to her mother, fear in her sweet little eyes.

"Bowie, listen to me! You hide in your closet ok sweetie? Be absolutely silent! Mommy will be back for you later." Bowie could here the panic dripping from her mother's voice, and she obeyed without thinking. She hid in the dark closet just before her mother left the room. She could still hear the clicking of her mother's heels, the Irish man's voice, and the second gunshot. It was deathly quiet immediately after. Then, a creak on the bottom stair. Another. And another. Bowie's fear was uncontainable, escaping in tiny whimpers from her mouth. Her bedroom door crashed open, and she jumped backwards into the abyss of dresses and skirts that was hanging up.

"That's odd. A little girl's room yet no little girl." Bowie could practically hear his evil grin. It was the same voice she heard before her mommy became quiet.

The doorknob turned methodically and the closet door popped open. Silhouetted in the doorway was a man with slicked back hair and a knife.

"Hello little one" he said in a silky voice "I wont hurt you… much." His maniacal laugh filled the little space between them. The man leaned over, placing his knife softly against Bowie's cheek.

"Now little girl, tell me about your daddy's job."

"I don't know anything, sir I swear!" she said against the cold steel of the knife.

"I believe you, being so young and all. But take this," he pushed the knife harder into her skin, leaving a gash "and know I will find you again someday."

Bowie gasped, being brought back to the present by a pain in her hand. She had clutched her bag so tightly that her fingers were white and limp. She _was _afraid of whoever was downstairs. What if it was a crazy? That was her name for whoever killed her parents, and whoever gave her this scar. She was a fan of Sherlock Holmes because he caught the crazies.

At the top of the stairs, she stopped to listen to the voices talking. She recognized one easily; it was Ms. Monroe. She waited a moment for the other. She recognized that voice, but she suddenly had doubts about her senses. _I am hearing what I want to hear, or am I actually hearing this?_ She went down to the landing and listened again.

"Yes, she should be down soon." Came Ms. Monroe's voice.

"I'm so pleased that she'll be joining me. She really is a great girl." The second voice said.

"Oh my god! Doctor Watson?" Bowie took off down the stairs, duffle bag flopping behind her. She reached the lobby, tearing across the black and white tile.

"It's really you! This is too good to be true!" she sobbed as she herself into his arms. They stood there for a moment, Bowie shaking and sobbing, John patting her hair awkwardly.

"Yes, its really me." He smiled "Are you ready to go?"

"Of course!" she put her palms to her forehead. "Are you sure I'm not dreaming?"

"Positive, now let's go." He laughed again.

They took a cab to Baker Street, and Bowie promised not to get them kicked out of this one. They reached the front door, paid the driver, and went to introduce Bowie to Mrs. Hudson.

"Hello dearie. You must be Bowie. Sherlock and John have talked so much about you."

"It's very nice to meet you, Mrs. Hudson."

"If the boys ever drive you crazy, I'm downstairs in 221a. Actually, _when_ the boys drive you crazy." The kindly woman said with a smile. "Oh, and here's the key for 221c."

"Thank you Mrs. Hudson. I think that I'll will just be adding to your insanity." Bowie said.

"Oh dear. John warned me of this." Mrs. Hudson said, nodding towards the doctor.

He just smiled at Bowie, his arms folded across his chest.

"Would you like a tour?" he asked the girl giving her a wink.

"Sure!" Bowie said. She climbed the physical and metaphorical stairs to her new life.

**I'm so grateful for the subscribers! I wasn't expecting anyone to read this, so even the few I have are amazing. The past few chapters were pretty sugar coated, but it gets darker! I promise. :)**


	4. Chapter 4

**Ch. 4**

Bowie awoke to the sound of a gunshot

"Jesus Christ! What is going on?" She ran down the hallway to find Sherlock. Shooting at the wall.

"Excuse me? Mr. Holmes? I understand that the wall the wall had it coming, but don't you want to do something a bit more productive?" She said, standing in the doorway of 221b.

"I'm BORED! And where did you come from? Never mind don't answer that. You're staying with us aren't you?" he said in one breath.

"Yes, in 221c." She was suddenly pushed out of the way by a middle-aged man with salt and pepper hair.

"Ah! Good morning Lestrade. You don't know how relieved I am to see you. There's barely any wall left to shoot." Sherlock said, smiling at the man.

"Well, you won't be relieved when you hear this. There's a string of murders we've been following, and all of the victims are policemen."

"Still relieved. Now tell me the details." Sherlock said curtly.

"So far, it's been all police officers, and-"

"You just said that!" Sherlock exclaimed, looking skyward.

"Fine. Single bullet to the head every time. They've all been killed off-duty, so this killer is not random. This person knows exactly whom they're killing. Any ideas?"

"14. Now go, I have work to do." Sherlock snapped.

"Have fun. Be careful. This case sounds dirty." Lestrade said. "Oh, and who are you?" he added, looking at Bowie who had been pushed out on to the landing.

"I'm Bowie. I'm staying with Mr. Holmes and Dr. Watson." She stuck out her hand to shake.

"Well, it's very nice to meet you."

"She'll be joining us on some cases." John said, walking in with his bathrobe on.

"What!" Bowie, Lestrade, and Sherlock all looked up at once.

"You didn't think we'd just leave you at the flat did you?" John asked, a bewildered look on his face.

"I hadn't given it much thought, but it has happened to me before." Bowie said sheepishly."

"John! We never discussed this!" Sherlock complained, getting up from his chair.

"I'm gonna leave now, alright?" Lestrade pointed to the door with his thumbs.

"Yes, Greg. I think that would be best for now." John gave him a sympathetic glance. "We'll talk about the case later maybe. Bye." Greg was already halfway downstairs.

Bowie had half a grapefruit for breakfast after contemplating for half an hour if she really wanted something that had been next to an amputated hand. Finally deciding that the two bites that she had taken were enough, she went to get dressed. When she was ready, she went back to Sherlock and John's flat.

"Excuse me Dr. Watson?" she said, knocking on the doorframe.

"Please, call me John." He said in a joking tone.

"Ok. John? Is there anything that you need me to do? I'll run an errand or something."

"Actually, I was just leaving for the murder scene. Sherlock is already there, and I'm not leaving you here alone. I know you love crime stories. Want to see a real one?"  
"Hell yah!" She covered her mouth. "Sorry. I meant yes."

"I know. Do you have a jacket? It's a little chilly out."

"No. I'll be fine though." Bowie hastily added, blushing.

"We'll get you one anyways. Don't want you to catch a cold."

Fifteen minutes later, Bowie was wearing a purple windbreaker and standing over a dead man. John and Sherlock were off talking to someone or other, but she felt the need to study the scene. The poor man had been picked off while walking down the street. Bowie knelt down and studied the bullet wound. _His hair is burned. It wasn't a sniper. The killer was right next to him. _She stood again, looking at the way the dead man was laying. _His killer would have been on his left. He would have been walking the same way as this poor bloke. _

Sherlock pushed past her swiftly and knelt down.

"What did you find, Miss?" he said, turning his head towards her.

"The killer was right next to him. Look at his hair. And they were most likely walking the same way." She paused, looking at the concrete. "There is a streak from a rubber soled shoe right here. John Doe here is wearing leather. That might tell you something too."

"Yes. The killer ran the opposite way the two were originally headed. Lestrade, do we have any witnesses?" Sherlock inquired, getting to his feet.

"Only one. He's right over here." Lestrade lead the trio over to a young man of about 20.

"Tell me exactly what you saw happen. And don't be boring." Sherlock said to the man without a second thought.

"It was a man. He was wearing a turtleneck, and he had a very square face. He had his gun concealed almost until he fired it. I only saw the gun for a split second."

"Is that all you have. Good God Lestrade. You pick the worst witnesses." Sherlock said, already walking away.

"Wait, one more thing!" the young man cried. "I heard the man say something. A name. It was a last name. It began with an M. Maton? No! I got it! Moriarty!"


	5. Chapter 5

**I totally forgot to mention this is post-reichenbach. Sherlock has come back and Moriarty is dead. Or is he? :)**

**Ch.5**

There was a shocked silence. Everyone looked at Sherlock, waiting to see his reaction. He tried his best to remain emotionless.

"Are you absolutely positive that's what the killer said?" He finally said, gaining his composure.

"Absolutely. I was right behind them while they were talking. I recognized the name from the papers. That's what made me look up. Right as I did, though, this man got shot." His voice quivered.

"Very well then. Bowie, John, we're going home now." Sherlock mumbled with a far off gaze.

Back at Baker Street, Bowie made tea and they all sat down in the living room.

"We mustn't jump to conclusions Sherlock!" John said once they were all settled. "It might not be related to Moriarty at all."

"I know, but it usually isn't a coincidence if that name turns up right before someone's killed, is it?" Sherlock growled.

"I guess not." John murmured.

"My dad used to talk about someone named Moriarty when I was little. He never said anything about him to me, but he and Mum would talk." Bowie piped up. "I never really thought about that until all the stuff about Moriarty and Richard Brook started popping up."

"Your dad was a policeman too, wasn't he?" Sherlock said, with renewed interest.

"Yah. He would talk a lot about some Moriarty person once I was in bed. Late, too. I don't think my mum and dad wanted me to hear anything." She added with a realization. "You know, it was almost all they ever talked about."

Sherlock stood up and began pacing.

"Lestrade said that the victims of this murder string were all policemen. Shot in the head every time. Bowie, were your parents shot in the head?"

"Sherlock!" John yelled, looking up from his tea. "Timing, again!"

"Oh, terribly sorry." Sherlock said with little emotion.

"It's fine." Said Bowie, holding back tears. "I'm not sure, to answer your question. They were shot though." She took a sudden interest in her tea, swirling the spoon around delicately.

"Maybe it would be best if you went to bed, Bowie." John said, being caring as always.

"Sure." She set her tea down and sniffled. "Goodnight."

John knocked on her door around 9 pm, carrying a glass of water and a pill bottle.

"Sorry about Sherlock. He can be a bit insensitive sometimes." He said as he sat down at the foot of her bed.

"Its alright. I know he's normally not human." She sat up more in bed. "Does he know I'm sick? He never really mentioned anything about it to me."

"No, I haven't told him. He can be weird about things like that." John handed her the bottle. "I got this for you at work today. It should help you out. Almost all my other leukemia patients got better with this. I also set up an appointment for you in 2 months."

"Thanks, John. This has been unreal so far." She took the glass from him.

"I'm glad you're enjoying it. Goodnight."

"Goodnight."

The next morning, Sherlock was decent enough not to shoot the wall. Instead, he spent the morning pacing around the flat like a lion on the hunt. John spent the morning on his laptop, a cup of coffee sitting dutifully to his right. Bowie decided that it would be a good time to visit Mrs. Hudson. She pulled on her dressing gown (one that John had bought for her) and went downstairs. She stood in front of 221a before hesitantly knocking on the door. It swung open and Mrs. Hudson stood facing her.

"Oh, hello dearie!" She said as she ushered Bowie inside. "Have the boys driven you up the wall already? Please have a seat."

"No, they haven't yet. I just didn't want to interrupt anything. They both seemed pretty busy." She smiled at the old woman.

"Would you like anything to eat? I know Sherlock tends to keep more body parts than food in the fridge." Mrs. Hudson asked, sitting in the opposite chair.

"No, thank you. I'm fine"

They continued their banter for some time until there came a knock at the door.

"Mrs. Hudson? May I speak to Bowie?" It was Sherlock's voice behind the wood.

"Of course!" she nodded at Bowie, who got up and headed towards the door.

"Nice speaking to you, Mrs. Hudson." She sung as she walked out the door.

Sherlock was already up the 17 stairs that led to 221b. Bowie jogged up to meet him. In the flat, the Doctor was seated on the couch, and Sherlock was standing near the door.

"Is this some sort of intervention? Have I done something wrong?" she said with a concerned look on her face.

"No, not at all. In fact, you've been quite a help on this budding case. I think that for only having lived with us for only two days, you've left a large impression. I know that you are a very clever girl, and you have great mind, not to different from my own. You have too many distractions though, and that is holding you back. John here also thinks that this case is dangerous, which is not an exaggeration. For that reason, I have decided that I'll be your mentor. Someday, maybe you could be the next consulting detective." Sherlock talked on, pacing continuously.

"But you also have to go to normal school." John added, lifting a hand up. "I know you're used to going to school on the same grounds as where you live. You're starting on Wednesday, by the way."

"Yes, I'm sure she knew that John. Anyway, I'll be training you as my intern, or more appropriately, assistant."


	6. Those Damn Walls

**CH 6**

"Was that a gun shot?" John exclaimed as he carried the groceries up the stairs. Sherlock was standing behind Bowie, who had a pistol in her hand. She looked at John guiltily.

"Aim for the eye on the smiley face now." Sherlock said, ignoring John.

"No! You shouldn't be shooting guns indoors!"

"Where else would I teach her? Just shoot it." The gun went off.

"STOP SHOOTING MY BLOODY WALL!" Mrs. Hudson cried from downstairs.

"Fine. I'll listen to _her. _Now disarm the gun."

"Sherlock, can't you teach her something else besides how to shoot a wall?"

"Marksmanship John. Marksmanship. It's purely self-defense."

"No. It's purely irresponsible. What if she got hurt?"

"I'm fine, John. Besides, the gun he bought me would be completely useless if I didn't know how to use it." Bowie said.  
"You bought her a gun?" John yelled, a vein on his neck bulging out.

"I told you! Purely self-defense. What if she got kidnapped?"

"She's not going to get _kidnapped_! She'll be fine with us." His eyes were cold as he stared at Sherlock.

"Better safe than sorry. Wouldn't you feel terrible if I was?" Bowie chimed in, defending Sherlock.

"Fine. Keep a gun in your bag if you want." John threw up his hands in defeat. He stormed in to the other room while Bowie and Sherlock smirked at each other.

"I've taught you well so far. Your next test will be my brother. He's coming over at 7 o' clock so be ready. I'm sure you'll have as much fun as I do annoying him."

"Today? You sure I'm ready for someone prestigious as your brother? I've only been learning for a day."

"Mycroft and the government only think he is prestigious. We here at Baker Street know better."

When Mycroft arrived later, Bowie was seated on the couch trying to look as innocent as possible. It made the reactions from her victims so much better.

"Good day, dear brother." Sherlock said calmly, opening the door "Have you met Bowie? She's staying with John and me. Say hello Bowie."

"Hello sir. It's a pleasure."

"Have a seat Mycroft. I'm so eager for you to get to know her." Sherlock's tone was too fake for Mycroft's liking, and he rolled his eyes.

"So this is your ward. I pray she is not as vexing as you."

The two companions smiled simultaneously.

"And I pray you are not as much of a bother as Sherlock describes you to be." Bowie smiled sweetly.

"Oh dear god, Sherlock. I can barely stand one of you, never mind two." Mycroft sighed. "I knew you'd be sure she was just as clever as you and _twice_ as irksome."

" Mycroft, I value your opinion seeing as you're my brother, but you're just being ridiculous. She is at least 3 times as annoying."

Bowie grinned.

"I was working, brother. I would rather deal with that than put up with this torture. Have a nice day." Mycroft picked up his umbrella and walked towards the door.

"That was easy. I only had to talk once." Bowie said after he left.

"I knew it would be. Like he said, he can barely cope with one of me."

"Well, he does seem nice. But I suppose I didn't spend an entire childhood with him."

"Your insight far exceeds that of a 15 year old."

"Thank you."

John looked on at the two from the chair beside the fireplace. He hadn't seen Sherlock have this much fun ever. Besides on freak murder strings. Sherlock liked those too.

"So all you're teaching her is to mess with Mycroft and me? And too shoot walls?" John's tone was serious, but the goofy smile on his face gave him away.

"It's more than just that. I'm sure I could mess with most people now, and shoot most walls." Bowie said. "Those can be very valuable skills. Say I was attacked by a rogue wall? First I would have to distract it by taunting it, then shoot it."

"Last time I checked walls don't attack people. Sherlock thinks that they do, though."

"I was bored. What else would I do?"

"Normal people read books, or do puzzles, but no. Mr. Sherlock Holmes shoots innocent walls." Bowie said as she sat on the arm on John's chair.

"Who ever said it was innocent?" he replied jokingly.

They spent the night chatting together by the fireplace until Bowie was reminded that she started school tomorrow. She bid Sherlock and John goodnight, went upstairs, and fell in to an easy sleep.

**Have not updated in so long! Sorry for the short chapter, but it gets exciting fast from here in!**


	7. Chapter 7

**Hello! This chapter switches between scenes. When you see this: o0O0o, that means it is a new scene. Thank you to everyone who have who has followed and favourited this story. I love yo faces!**

**Ch 7**

Bowie had never experienced something as dull as her new school in her life. The students were lifeless servants, sitting still in their chairs while the professor droned on monotonously. She spent the day fidgeting in one seat or another, sitting alone at a lunch table, and them fidgeting in several more seats. When the bell rang ages later, she all but ran home to collapse on the couch and complain to John.

"It couldn't have been that bad." He called from the kitchen, where he was throwing out various experiments of Sherlock's. Bowie rolled on to her stomach and breathed in the smell of dust from the couch. John entered and sat on his armchair.

"Why was it so bad?" he asked, leaning back with a sigh.

"It is the same thing for 10 hours straight!" she exclaimed, pulling her hair from it's ponytail.

"Bowie, school was not 10 hours long." He said, giving her a stern look.

"Okay. Eight hours. But still! I knew all the material by heart, and there is nothing to do. It's like being stuck in cell."

"Did you try, oh, I don't know, try talking to people? At lunch? Or just in general?"

"Of course not."

"Right. I think I know someone who could relate better. Sherlock!" John yelled down the hall, stood up, and left the room. "And please don't shoot the wall." He added, poking his head around the door. Bowie couldn't help but smile; she enjoyed this dysfunctional family they had going. A crash was heard from Sherlock's room, and just as she opened her mouth to see what happened, a cry of "Fine!" echoed down the hall. He emerged a minute later carrying his violin.

"You know, Sherlock, I realized something yesterday evening." Bowie said to him as he began to play softly.

"What is that, miss?"

"How did you 'buy' that gun for me? I thought there was a law about civilians owning guns."

"I stole it from Lestrade."

"Figured."

Weeks passed with similar days. Bowie returning from school angry and bored, John trying to be reasonable with her, and Sherlock being Sherlock. The three would sit by the fireplace every night, even if there wasn't a blaze. Bowie felt at home with them. Sherlock would drag her along to cases every chance he got, explaining his deductions. The murdered policemen were piling up at a disturbing rate, and he would stay up all night, pacing across the flat with his eyebrows knitted.

o0O0o

One morning before John and Sherlock had woken up, Bowie went downstairs to fix herself breakfast. The fingertips of dawn were just peeking through the window when she noticed a note from John on the counter. It reminded her that she had an appointment with him after school and to come directly to his office once she was let out. She stuffed it in her pocket and made a mental note.

School was a lull as always, and she was almost positive she could not stand one more day of her history teacher's nasally whine. Bowie left as quickly as she could, stuffing her bag hastily. Baker street was a little out of her way, but she felt uneasy for some reason. She popped in to grab her gun, feeling stupid the whole time. Making sure it was tucked underneath her books, she took off at a run for John's office.

o0O0o

"Well this is promising." John said with a smile, looking at the paper he held in his hand. "The medication seems to be working, and the disease is in remission. You'll have to stay on the medicine your entire life though. That's the only downside right now."

"Thank you. For everything, really." She said "I owe you a lot."

"No need to thank me." He laughed. "Can you get milk on the way home? I forgot to get it yesterday."

"Sure. Anything else?"

"That's it. See you later."

"Bye!" The paper rustled as she hopped off the examination table, grabbed her bag, and left.

o0O0o

With milk in hand, Bowie headed towards the flat. Something still seemed off to her, and her stomach was tying itself in knots. She tried to be logical, and just to assure herself she was safe she turned around. That was when Bowie noticed a man behind her. He was tall, with a wrinkled leather jacket wrapped tightly around him. He stopped walking and turned his head at her scrutiny. One thought went through Bowie's mind: shit.

Frantically, she turned down an alley and ran. Only twenty feet down, a brick wall blocked her path. She knew it was a bad decision the minute a white cloth went over her mouth and everything went black.

o0O0o

When John walked through the flat door he and Sherlock began speaking simultaneously.

"Where's Bowie?"

"I thought she was with you."

"If she's not with you then where-"

One thought went through John's mind: shit.

Many thoughts were racing through Sherlock's, however, I will elaborate on one: shit.


	8. Chapter 8

**Ahhhhhh! Cliffhanger! I meant to upload this a while ago, but whoops! Here you go!**

**Ch. 8**

Bowie woke up in a completely dark room. A headache tore through her brain and her wrists were bound tightly to he ankles by a single length of rope. She lifted her head and blinked several times before she could make out her surroundings. The room was cold, and seemingly empty, and she did not see a door, looking above her, she realized the wall she was seated against was, in fact, the only door.

"Hello hello hello. I see you're awake." A voice called from across the void. Bowie knew that voice. _I wont hurt you... much._ She began to struggle against the rope as a spotlight flickered on, and Jim Moriarty stepped into it. Her wrists burned from the rough fibres and tears flooded her eyes.

"Please don't hurt me." She tried to squeak, but the words were held back by the duct tape across her mouth. Jim Moriarty made his way slowly across the concrete flooring towards his captive.

"Don't know why they bothered with this." He said, ripping the tape off. It peeled away skin on her lip. "You were asleep anyways." She licked her lips as the coppery taste of blood tricked in to her mouth.

"Whats going on?" Bowie asked, looking up at him with wide eyes.

"Just the usual." He shrugged. "Just getting to know you better, considering I almost killed you when you were young. And now I'm going to kill you anyways. Its more fun this way." His smile sent shivers down her spine.

"Why did you kill my parents? What did those policemen do to get killed?" she asked, pushing herself against the closed door.

"You don't even bother with introduction? How rude. I would think Sherlock would teach you better, but I suppose we both know exactly who the other is. Anyway, are you ready for my story? Your father…" he began pacing to and fro, the spotlight staying directly on him. "… was a policeman. He was also part of my crime group. He assisted in most of the robberies and murders I directed, but after a while I noticed something; All of my little crime sprees he helped with, always were interfered with by the police. I took him in for questioning." Bowie suddenly remembered her father going on a 'business trip'. Even at such a young age, she wondered why on earth any member of the police would need to travel for work. Moriarty began talking again once she looked at him again. "He said that he really was working for me. But I got something else from him. He said that he had told your mother about his 'second life' as he called it. I make every member of my company take an oath. It doesn't do much, considering they get paid for killings and whatnot, but it is an oath all the same. I killed him for breaking my code, and your mother for knowing too much. I try to be as fair as I can, so I spared you. I was going to kill you eventually, and make it look like an accident. To answer your other question, it was because I didn't want a repeat of your family. Rather be safe than sorry." He kneeled down in front of her and grabbed her curl. He had mint gum on his breath.

"My father would never stoop so low as to be a criminal." Bowie said with utter hatred gleaming in her eye.

"So you're justifying me killing him?" he grinned at her. She spit squarely in his eye. Jim stood up and wiped it off, just before slapping her across the face.

"How rude, miss." He snarled. Bowie bit back tears. That was what Sherlock called her. She wondered if he noticed if she were missing. "I'm going to kill you now by the way." He said, kneeling down at her level. " I was so lucky you crossed paths with Sherlock. Now I don't have to go through all the trouble of making your death look accidental. I still like watching him burn you know. I want to do it properly this time. From a distance. Are you ready?" he pulled something from his back pocket, and Bowie saw the glint of metal. She knew all too well what it was. It was the knife that gave her the scar. "This is going to be so fun!" he squealed in a cartoony voice. His glee at the thought of her murder was one of the most disturbing things she had ever heard. Flipping open his knife, he lined up the blade perfectly to her scar. As he cut, she screamed. This cut was much deeper than the previous on had been. Blood seeped down her face, mixing with the tears falling from her eyes. Moriarty had just put his knife against her other cheek when a noise radiated from his pocket "

"_Ah ah ah stayin' alive, stayin' alive_"

He pinched in between his brows. "You… have got… to be… freaking… KIDDING ME! I'm going to answer this call, and if you are not absolutely silent, I will skin you alive. Understand?"

Bowie nodded fearfully.

"Hello? Who is this? What?" Jim turned his back and began walking towards the opposite wall. The door behind Bowie clicked open, and a hand went over her mouth.

"Do not make a sound." a voice whispered in her ear "Move over slightly so the door is free." It was Sherlock's voice. Relief flooded over her. Nodding, she slid clear of the door only to hear it click shut.

"Did you call someone? That sounded suspiciously like Sherlock's little ordinary pet." He narrowed his eyes at her

"Not a soul." She replied "When would I have?"

"Fine. Can I get back to killing you know?"

The door burst open and Sherlock stood in the doorway, firing blindly in to the dark room. The single light was still on, but Jim was not in it. He had disappeared in to the recesses of the large room. Sherlock's priorities changed instantly, and he turned towards Bowie, who was still bound and cowering by the door.

"Dear god, what did he do to you?" he said, dabbing at the blood on her face.

"He cut me. That is about it though." As hard as she tried, she could not stop the sob that racked her body.

"Here." he whispered, pulling his own knife from inside his jacket. Sherlock sawed at the rope before it severed and set Bowie free. She rubbed her wrists for a second, which were raw and pink raw from struggling. Sherlock reached behind a protruding column beside them and withdrew Bowie's bag. Feeling around inside for a moment, he pulled out her handgun and tossed it to her.

"Take this. John and Lestrade will be here soon, but until then, were on our own. This is the only entrance, so Moriarty couldn't have gone far. I'm going to go this way around the perimetre, you stay here and guard the door."

He began walking, his own gun held in front of him. She could just see his silhouette walking flush with the wall. He vanished behind the spotlight, and Bowie began trembling violently. She had been through a lot in her life, but she was sure this was the most horrified she had ever been. The dim light cast by the spot went out suddenly, and the room was plunged in to darkness again. Her hands were shaking and clammy as she clutched the gun roughly. Easing away from from the door, Bowie turned the way Sherlock had gone and cocked her gun. She hoped to God that Sherlock wouldn't startle her. A footstep sounded behind her, and a finger inched towards the trigger.

"Sherlock? Is that you? If you don't answer I'll shoot!" Bowie was surprised at the lack of quaver in her voice.

"It's me. I'm about 15 feet away. Are you ok?" Sherlock spoke from the darkness.

"Fi-" her breath hitched in her throat as a violent pain shot through her back. Bowie breathed in short, shallow gasps as she pulled Moriarty's knife from her back. Her vision blurred and her hearing was amplified. She could here Sherlock shouting for her, but above all, Moriarty's malevolent laughter. It echoed everywhere, ricocheted off the vaulted ceilings, and danced through her mind. Her head grew light, and she felt dizzy and nauseous. Vision disappeared altogether, and she fell to the ground unconscious.


	9. Chapter 9

**Ch 9**

The first thing Bowie saw when she opened her eyes was John. He was slumped in one of those stiff, ugly hospital chairs. His head hung off the back, and he was snoring loudly.

Bowie was on her side in a hospital bed, with an IV leading from one hand to a bag of fluid suspended above her head. Her forehead itched badly, and as she went to scratch it with her other hand, she was nearly knocked out by a purple cast.

"Bloody hell." She mumbled.

"Hello miss. Feeling better?" Sherlock was leaning against the wall at the foot of her hospital bed, one foot on the ground, the other tucked beneath him.

"What the hell is this?" she asked incredulously, brandishing her bandaged right hand above her turned head.

He chuckled. "Nice to see you too. It's fractured, happened when you fell. You didn't answer my question though. You know how much I hate unanswered questions."

"I'm as good as a stab victim with a fractured wrist could be, I guess." She grinned and made a move to roll over.

"No no no! Don't!" he yelled, jumping up. Bowie was startled, and tensed up.

"Why shouldn't I move?" she said, not looking at him, but straight ahead.

"Honestly I don't know. John told me not to let you move. Ask him."

"But he's asleep."

"Not for long! Let's ask the good doctor now!" with that, Sherlock balled up his leather gloves, and tossed them at John's head. John woke with a snort.

"Wha- what is it?" he sat up and looked around. "Oh! Hello Bowie! How are you feeling?" he asked when he saw her.

"I'm well. Sherlock says I shouldn't move though. Why not?"

"Well, you can move but-"

"Oooaaaaaaaah, that hurt."

"-not… too… quickly. You ok?" he asked, leaning towards her.

"Oh I'm fine. So how long have I been out?" She scooted up more in the elevated bed.

"About a day. The doctors had to anesthetize you while they were giving you stitches. You were trying to fight them off. And you did a pretty good job of it." Sherlock said. He had returned to lounging on the wall.

Something occurred to Bowie, and she thought it over before asking Sherlock.

"How on earth did you find me?"

John and Sherlock looked at each other for a minute. Sherlock breathed in.

" Well, we received a cryptic message stating that if one lined up each letter in the alphabet with a number, for example: A equals 1, B equals 2 etc, and added all the letters in 'Moriarty' together, we would get the street number. From there, I contacted my homeless network to find every street in London with an address of 119. I told them to break in to each one, and then contact me if anything suspicious was going on. Within an hour, they had located an abandoned warehouse in east London with all of the windows and doors bolted, with 2 black cars parked outside. I arrived, and kicked down the padlocked doors, and rescued you while John got Lestrade and his clever little officers."

Bowie scoffed.

"Nice try, but I'm not stupid. Lestrade doesn't have any clever officers."

"You've finally picked up on that. Congratulations." Sherlock laughed.

"I want the real story. Now, please." Bowie said, looking to John.

"We contacted Moriarty's phone carrier to see where he had sent his most recent text to Sherlock was sent from. Turns out he had a GPS on his phone, so we knew exactly where he had taken you. Sherlock was disappointed that Lestrade and I figured it before he did." John gave her a proud smile.

"You didn't figure it out, you just asked someone else!" Sherlock spat, with his brow creased.

"Ok, so we asked someone before Sherlock figured it out." John admitted.

"Doesn't matter to me. As long as you found me." Said Bowie, looking down at her hands.

"There's something we wanted to talk to you about." Sherlock said quickly, making her look up suddenly.

"You're very lucky you weren't killed." John butted in. "The knife missed the bottom of your lung by millimeters. We feel awful that we ever put you in harms way…"

"Yes?" Bowie said, looking at the both of them, confused.

"… and we think the safest thing for you would be to leave our care." John finished. His faced was creased and sad looking,

Bowie felt hot tears welling in her eyes. She felt the room spinning. She felt her heart thudding in her throat.

"You… you… what?" was all she could think to say.

" I'm so sorry Bowie." John said, looking her in the eye.

"John is right. It is the safest option." Sherlock spoke up. "But you could always settle for second best." A smile ghosted his lips.

"Wha- second best?" She asked, looking at him.

"You could stay with us." It wasn't just a trace of a smile now. He was beaming.

"I can? You mean, you're serious? This isn't some sick practical joke?" she sat up straighter, practically yelling at him.

"I'm not joking at all, Ms. Bowie Holmes."

**Woooo! I finally updated this story! Happiness galore :) **

**I'm currently working on "The Memoirs of Bowie Holmes" which are one shots written from Bowie's perspective, but I'm not uploading those until this book is done, which it isn't entirely. Also, I want to know what countries my readers are from! Let me know in the comment thingy! Love you :)**


	10. Chapter 10

**Ch 10**

Bowie was able to go home within a week. The doctors insisted she rest, but she was up and bouncing around the flat on day one. John and Mrs. Hudson were constantly nagging, muttering about Sherlock being a bad influence. They had good reason to.

Sherlock originally had brought Bowie some cold case files to keep her occupied while she healed. He then had the brilliant idea to recreate the scenes in the flat. Mrs. Hudson was not happy to find out that it was not red paint, but actual blood (supplied by Molly) that covered her walls. Lestrade was happy to find out they had solved 4 cases within 4 days.

John stopped by Bowie's school to get her school work. The next day Sherlock stopped by and gave the Headmaster an angry rant about the simplistic and valueless material that was being taught. He then came home and paced about the flat, scaring off Mrs. Hudson by yelling something about having Mycroft liquidate the public schooling system. He then phoned John to tell him that Bowie didn't need to go to school. From listening to Sherlock's end of the conversation, it was clear to Bowie that John did not feel the same way. Sherlock got off the phone and asked rather sweetly if he could burn her notebooks, and if she would like to be home schooled. Bowie agreed to both.

After that incident, Sherlock and Bowie were giddy for about a day. And despite telling Bowie constantly that she needed to rest, John couldn't help but join in. The trio spent several hours pouring over cases, but of course Sherlock got bored of this quite quickly.

The giddy-ness changed anger when Sherlock solved everything they had. All three of them sat in silence by the fireplace, John and Bowie staring at Sherlock, who had a brooding look on his face. His fingers were steepled against his mouth. Suddenly, he inhaled sharply, drew a handgun from his breast pocket and shot the wall.

"F- really, Sherlock!?" John exclaimed, looking angrily at the detective.

Sherlock looked at both of his companions, before cracking a grin. They maintained straight faces for as long as they could, before they all began laughing. They were interrupted by boot steps on the staircase. Lestrade burst in, out of breath and looking concerned. Sherlock stood.

"Right behind you, Lestrade." He said, calmly grabbing his coat and scarf. Lestrade ran back down the stairs. Sherlock looked back at John and Bowie, who were still seated. "Well. Are you coming?" They leapt up and pulled on their jackets. Within a minute, they were rushing down the steps. Bowie felt so alive, and to herself she thought: _the game is on._

A.N: **OMG GUYS HI HOW ARE YOU I MISSED YOU! Finally finished this story. Hope you liked it start to finish, but if not, oh well! Thanks to all my awesome followers. You guys rock! BYE**


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